by Mel Blue
Luke had voyeuristic tendencies. Last year, for one night, he’d requested a couple. Partly curious and partly because of her job, she’d asked if he’d participate. No. He just wanted to watch. And because it was her job, she’d found a couple more than happy to oblige.
Seraphina was on the red floor.
She was on the red floor.
She hadn’t taken enough liquid courage because her stomach flip-flopped and her knees trembled. Standing there in a silk knee-length jacket was enough to get her canned on the spot. Hood up or no, someone could recognize the way she stood, and could use it against her: if not to report her, then to gossip to so-and-so about how they could’ve sworn they saw Ms. Gibson half-naked on the second floor in the red area. Sooner or later Beaudelaire would hear about it.
Another Scotch could have stripped ninety percent of the fear still rolling around in her gut. Without it she knocked on the door any damn way. She hadn’t delegated, tap-danced, and put on a thong to shiver in a coat while standing in the hallway.
Luke opened the suite’s door. Oh, yeah. She should have had that third drink. He was shirtless. One hand gripped high up on the door in a way that elongated his torso. He was an heir to a winery, but for all intents and purposes, he was a farmer. He worked the land to coax grapes to grow ripe and juicy on vines. He knew when to pluck them. Had learned the hard way what his employees did for him, especially during long and unforgiving summers.
The sun had darkened his skin, but work had crafted his body into hard muscle. Nature sprinkled fine hairs down his chest until the silky hair disappeared into the waist band of his jeans.
His dark-blue eyes inspected her in the same manner. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Luke stepped back and waved her in. She faced him after he closed the door.
“Evening…” He trailed off as though she’d fill the silence with a name.
Remembering the role she was supposed to play, Seraphina put a finger to her lips and shook her head. The satin gloves felt cool against her mouth.
He tilted his head. “Then what can I call you?”
She shrugged and wondered how long it would take him to try and break another one of her conditions. She’d planned for that, because she knew him. Maybe not in a deep and intimate way, but enough. None of that would matter if he recognized her. Her nerves jumped in her stomach like Pop Rocks. Thank God she hadn’t eaten anything.
Taking a chance, she pulled down the hood. Every muscle in her body tensed for his reaction. Yes, his stare fixed on her face, but not from any recognition. The antique Venetian mask she wore deserved a moment’s consideration. One half rose just a bit above her head, capturing a butterfly’s profile. Precious gems dotted the tips of its wings. The other half cut along her cheekbone and curved up to her hairline. Gold, cold, a bit uncomfortable, but it covered her face down to her nose. The eye holes were jeweled with emeralds and rubies.
The woman who’d left California would have found any occasion to show the mask off to the world. It was something so overstated, the new Seraphina had never planned to wear it. She’d covered the leather strap that held it on her face with her hair. Fresh from a shower, the locks had curled. She rarely wore it down and hadn’t noticed she’d needed to chop off a few inches. Yet the way he drank her in, nothing about her needed fixing.
“I’ll call you Séjour.”
He’d said it in what sounded like a French accent, but she didn’t know the meaning. Because of her conditions, she couldn’t ask. She nodded to let him know it was okay.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “There’s liquor over there. The balcony is worth a moment of your time. The room is fully stocked with food, magazines, and books. There’s no rush. We have all night.”
She took the reprieve, but if she didn’t take off the jacket, she’d never get the courage to do anything else. The gloves had been a good idea at the time, but buttons were a bitch. To avoid his searching gaze as she fumbled, she moved around.
She’d seen every room and recognized this one. A dark salmon shade colored the walls. White paint lined the trim and the French doors were closed. He’d pushed back the curtains, leaving the arched windows uncovered. At night the oak trees surrounding the hotel bowed over the driveway’s path. The lights of the city were a faint shimmer, a promise, a mystery.
She dropped her jacket to the floor and faced him. He’d taken a seat, his back to her. Shadows draped his wide shoulders in darkness. She couldn’t see any line of tension in them. Assured. It’s the one word she thought of every time they had an interaction, every time she’d watch him with another member of the staff. He never needed to show off or be loud. His very presence demanded your attention.
Nerves fought with desire, and the hunger for him won. She made her way to the nightstand. The Flambeau Bienville lamp was beautiful, but the faint light left her little visibility to peer into the drawer. She grabbed the most interesting-looking toy and closed it.
Sucking in a breath, she turned around and her limbs stopped working. Until now she didn’t quite understand his kink, or why someone would participate. The intensity of his gaze drank in every curve, every dip of her body, and every breath she took. He desired what he saw. His hand rested beneath his chin and the pose should have looked relaxed, but she could practically feel the tension, the anticipation in his frame.
She knew the picture she drew. A long strand of pearls stopped at her belly button. They offset the black gloves that reached past her elbows. The black corset had a red ribbon over the shaped bra. As she bent to rummage in the drawer, the red thong must have displayed all her best assets. A tight ribbon, with roses threaded into a design, cut across her upper thighs and held up the silk stockings. The heels made her legs appear as if they went on for miles and miles.
She’d checked and double checked the way she’d looked in her bathroom mirror. Seeing herself reflected in his eyes made her stomach jump and warmth spilled through to her sex. He conveyed his ardor without a single word or touch. Doubt haunted her insane decision to be the replacement, but now nothing but a rightness settled into her heart.
“I know you won’t answer me,” he said. “That’s okay. I, often, like to hear the sound of my own voice.”
She shook her head, amazed Luke would be Luke at a time like this. She waved her free hand to encourage him to go on.
He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “I’ve never seen you before in the hotel. I’m just wondering what made Seraphina believe you’d be perfect for this weekend.”
She settled on the edge of the bed, placing her heels on the settee. If she had to ask anyone to be here with him, last minute…her mind drew a blank. The runner up wouldn’t have been too bad. The woman’s application had all the earmarks of someone who’d love a chance to be watched and desired by Luke.
She shrugged in answer and placed the toy next to her hip. For now, she didn’t need it. Holding his stare, she tugged the material clinging to her thumb, then her index finger, and every finger after that, until she could slide the glove off. He lowered himself into the love seat. When she’d checked out the room he must have unzipped his jeans because they hadn’t been open before. The waistband of his boxers rode low on his hips. A thick bulge right along the slit’s opening made her swallow. Her mouth was dry.
“Seraphina is an incredible woman even though she doesn’t want anyone to know she is.”
She faltered at the compliment. He wasn’t talking about her, but the words warmed her anyway.
“I know she runs these events, but I can’t imagine her being friends with anyone she could call in a pinch to do this kind of favor.”
She performed the same ritual with her right hand, but this time threw the glove into his lap. He didn’t move to pick it up, only watched her. She’d assumed he did more than observe, but what spurred him to take action?
She bit her bottom lip and his jaw clenched. It was now or never to turn her insanity into something tangible. Something that would get her thr
ough the late nights when alone wasn’t enough to sustain her. When she ached for the things she’d lost and nothing rational could beat it back into darkness. When she didn’t miss actively participating in life, instead of watching it go by around her.
She needed this. She needed to be braver, naughtier, grab life by the horns, and ride it harder if it tried to buck her off. And then she could go back to understated suits, her hair in a bun, and makeup that barely put a glow in her cheeks. Her choice couldn’t bite her in the ass. She’d been careful, and right now she could be more than the woman who had lived and loved in California.
She reached behind her and tugged the stays of the corset. A sigh parted her lips when her ribs had room to take in a full breath. Her breasts felt heavy and full. She hadn’t realized how aroused she was until that moment.
His breathing changed, deepened. She wiggled out the top and tossed that into his lap too. He didn’t reach for it. Or, maybe he refused to move because he could lose hold of the control that kept him still.
And…this felt like an audition. If she failed to live up to his fantasy, he’d write or call Seraphina about his disappointment with Séjour. She wanted every night she could have with him. Whatever shyness or nerves she had, had to go. This was it. So she leaned back on one elbow and closed her eyes. The heat of his gaze continued to warm her, make her wet, but he required an authentic experience. She’d give him that. She’d give that to herself because this was a once in a lifetime chance.
Seraphina brushed a fingertip over her nipple. The bud tightened at the light contact. She drew her finger over it again and again until she shifted her attention to the other one. Instead of direct contact this time, she circled the areola to test how long she could take her own teasing. When the taunting caress became unbearable, she grazed the sensitive tip.
A tingle prickled her skin. The next touch felt more potent as though her nerve endings had awakened and any skin-to-skin contact was magnified. She couldn’t forget he was there, but a haze descended on her mind. Whether or not he watched took second place from the way her palm abraded against her nipples. Because he was watching, the soft pinch made her moan.
Alone, her touch didn’t feel like this, but with him there, just there, she was wanton. Her clit ached for the same attention. If she reached down now, the pleasurable torture would end before she could really get started. She ignored the need and squeezed her left breast. Right. Left. Right. Left. Only her moans filled the silence in the room, but he was a tenable witness to how she liked to touch herself.
Her skin flushed, tightened. Catching her breath, she opened her eyes. His hands were balled against the chair’s arms. It had to be torture to watch her and not touch her, but he hadn’t moved. She’d never thought restraint could turn her on, but now the ache couldn’t be ignored.
She hooked her thumbs on her thong and worked it down until she threw it in his lap. Unlike before, he grabbed it in mid-air. He glanced at her and then the flimsy material, before he pressed the thong to his nose. She made a noise between a moan and a whimper.
“Show me,” he demanded in a low growl.
What he wanted to see didn’t need to be spelled out. She lifted one leg onto the bed. Air hit her sex and she hissed softly. His hand tightened around her panties. She waited for another command, but none came. The show was hers to dictate again.
She wet the tip of her index finger in her mouth and then sought to ease the ache between her legs. Her hips arched up. Elation shot through her limbs, her brain. Yes. This. She pressed her heels down to keep her toes from curling, but, yes. This. She ran her finger down to test her arousal. She was soaking wet.
A moan spilled out. She grasped the comforter with her other hand, but slid her finger across her clit. The tip was slippery and the brush felt more like a glide. Smoother than a tongue and just right because the tightness in her chest squeezed out another moan. It wouldn’t take much for an orgasm to slam through her.
She stiffened her finger and rocked until she penetrated herself. Not thick or hard enough, but more than enough to prolong the heady sensation being right there on the brink.
Luke made her wet just by being there. He’d sit five feet away, cock hard and wanting, and watch her. That thought was too much. She drew her finger back up to her clit, pressed harder, faster against the swollen nub. Heat concentrated in her chest and exploded out on a jagged breath. Her hips arched, and she stilled, working herself harder, faster until the next breath was a long moan.
She turned her head into her arm as another quake shook her legs. Her spine relaxed against the bed. She softened the touches, her clit was too sensitive, but her breath came out in pants, her legs had lost their will to stand upright and her thighs felt shaky.
She’d just masturbated in front of Luke, in a red room. She waited for a wash of embarrassment to flood her. Waited some more for common sense to remind her of everything she could lose. Her brain was too doused in that feel-good feeling of having just come. Oh, the haze felt wonderful. She laughed softly.
“Séjour, that was beautiful.” Luke sounded tense, but she heard the sincerity.
A rustle of fabric broke the quiet and then his hand encircled her foot, still clad in her high heel. She closed her eyes. Before yesterday he’d never intentionally touched her. Definitely not with the same tenderness he used to stroke her ankle through the silk stockings.
She hadn’t deprived herself of human touch for three years, but after the way he caressed her calf, Seraphina could admit she’d deprived herself of intimacy. Thirst was a hard concept to explain, but her throat throbbed from a dull pain of being stripped of a simple sustenance.
His lips, hot and soft, pressed against her knee in a tender kiss.
A pang thudded in her chest, and she wasn’t sure if she could take anymore, but she would if he kept touching her. He tongued her belly button. Her stomach filled to the brim with nerves and warmth and something akin to yearning. She swallowed to choke back the emotion wanting to rise. She’d wanted sex and couldn’t have imagined a connection, but it was right there in her grasp.
The calluses on his palms grazed her hips. She gasped at the conflicting sensations. Absently she noticed his legs were bare, but then he sucked her nipple into his mouth, the sharp sting of his teeth a distant promise. He barely teased her other nipple with his palm before lifting his head, cupping her face, and bringing his mouth down on hers. The low cut of the mask didn’t stand in his way. He didn’t utter a noise of complaint. His mouth was warm, and he tasted of wine. He groaned in her mouth.
It had been so long since she’d fallen into a kiss, she couldn’t recall the last time she had. She raised her hands, hesitated for a mere second before burying her fingers in his hair. The delicate strands parted between her fingers. Strange, a man who was anything but soft had silky hair. Another contradiction she filed away for later.
Hard. Everything else about him was. His chest, his thighs parting her legs wider. His cock. A fragility she’d forgotten about herself rose to the forefront of her mind. She felt like she could break beneath him. He deepened the kiss. If she was going to break, she’d rather it be in this bed with him than anywhere else. He grasped her thigh and pushed it up.
Luke groaned but pulled back. “Have no doubt I want to fuck you. Right now. But—”
She arched her hips up in answer. A primitive sound rattled in his chest and he thrust forward. She’d come but she still was too tight, not yet stretched enough for the thickness of his dick. Her fists balled in his hair.
“Shit.” He nipped her bottom lip, shifted and grasped her other thigh. He tested his fit with a light stroke, another, deeper each time until he was seated fully. “Just let me—fuck.”
He stilled, curved his face into the crook of her neck, and pushed out a frustrated breath. Never would she have imagined Luke could lose control or the ability of speech. The night could end there and now, and she could draw from the secret knowledge that she’d made Luke speechle
ss.
She sighed, content, and explored the coiled muscles of his back. Sweat dampened his skin. His body was made up of contours and hard lines. She couldn’t see them but her fingertips discovered nicks from scars. Small ones, but nothing that told of whatever darkness she’d always seen reflecting back at her. She could have stayed like that, just touching him, getting to know him without a single word from either of them.
He rolled his hips—Luke. He braced his arms on the mattress, one on each side of her, and repeated the slow roll. Her nails scraped over his skin.
“There.” He drove forward, picking up a rhythm that pounded away any dreamy notion she’d held a few moments ago.
Those hard contours she’d admired bunched, but his hips pistoned, in and out, out and in. She tried to match him, but kept getting lost in Luke being chanted in her mind. And fuck. Oh, yes. This. Right there. Don’t stop. Right. There.
The man she’d gotten to know, who could unnerve her with a single action, had nothing on the man who pounded into her. They shared the single-minded intent to drive her to the very edge and then further, just to see what made her break. But this man had an advantage. She had no guard, no defenses. No words to set him back in his space. Her moan sounded strangled and she tried not to dig into his back with her nails, but he hissed at the light scrape.
Luke let out a wicked laugh. “Right there, huh?”
He stilled, grasped her waist with one hand, and then slammed into her. She dropped her hands from his back and gripped his hair again. His dick glided right to the spot that started a pull in her stomach. Each time he slammed home, faster and faster, a shock wave of pleasure wrested through her.
Her nipples tingled, beaded to tight peaks. The sensation flushed her skin. There was nothing left to do but tighten around his cock. Her moans heightened in pitch until they were a breathless whisper. He watched her masturbate and now he was stripping her raw of anything else she wanted to hide from him. She liked it hard. Deep. Sweaty and slick.